The Country Duet(87)
Not gonna lie, when our little one was born I was thankful he was a boy. Watching Abby and Quinn grow up, and knowing I have a daughter of my own has scared the shit out of me. I have no idea how Dad survived two of the wild cats. Now we have real talks about beating bully’s asses.
“Dinner is in the Instapot,” Teale says before dashing to her car.
Baker’s on her heels, excited as all hell for her dance rehearsal. I’m still amazed, day-to-day, how Teale has all the energy she does. She tells me every single night before we fall asleep how thankful she is to be living her dream. A family is all Teale ever wanted. A powerful marriage, house full of kids, and a ranch where she can wear real cowgirl boots. She’s quite the ranch hand, especially when she brings me lunch out on the tractor or in the barn; that’s where she shows off her real talents. It’s those rare moments we have alone, exploring each other’s bodies, that I hold dear.
It’s not my cow dog, Tux, who is my right-hand partner on Sweetwater anymore. He’s buried up on a hill that overlooks the Snake River. Now, I have Ruger who is just as good. If life has taught me anything, it’s that the only thing that stays the same is that everything changes. With the only thing mattering is how you rise to the occasion.
I slip my shitty work boots off at the door and creep into the baby’s nursery. My little, chubby cowboy is out like a rock. I pull off my dirty work shirt, then pull him from his crib even though he’s fast asleep. The little man is a spitting replica of me, from his hair and eye color, right down to his bow tie lips.
“Hey, Bubba.” I kiss his sweet smelling forehead.
Mom deemed him with my nickname right off the bat, and it stuck. The amount of excitement coursing through my veins on a daily basis is unreal, with the reality of being able to raise my kids on Sweetwater just like I was.
In quiet moments like these, I never miss the opportunity to tell my son a story about the man who taught me what life is all about. It hurts every single day not having Dave in my life. I miss his stinky house, taking care of him, and mostly learning from him. I still hate black licorice to this day, but always have a pack of it in my house. Tears often well up in my eyes with just the thought of him. Funny, how life throws you a curve ball when you least expect it, and it turns out to be the grandest learning adventure of your life, not leaving you the same person.
I rock slowly back and forth in a steady rhythm with baby Dave clutched to my chest, and then begin telling him one of my favorite stories about the man he’s named after.
“One of the last nursing homes Dave was in, two nurses came in to change him out of a gown and into his black shirt and sweatpants. The thing about Dave, son, was you never knew what to expect. These nurses were barely twenty-one, but that didn’t stop Dave. He flat out asked them if they’ve ever seen a man naked before.”
I pause, shaking my head and remembering the moment I was embarrassed for the nurses, shaking my head, and mumbling, “Jesus, Dave.”
“Well, they both admitted to seeing a man naked before, and ol’ Dave proudly told them, ‘well, this won’t be the last dick you’re going to see then.’ When they left the room, I couldn’t help but burst out in laughter. The harder I laughed, the more Dave laughed along with me, even though he was in the worst shape of his life and he was barely hanging on. He turned to me and told me that it didn’t matter anymore. He used to cover himself up, but they’ve seen all kinds of dicks. Small, medium, and big ones, so he didn’t give a shit if they saw his.”
An odd story to be telling your newborn, but Dave wasn’t your typical man in any sense. He marched to the own beat of his drum and had no reservations about telling anyone to fuck off. It’s that fighting, country spirit I want baby Dave to have, with a bit of my finesse and good manners to round it out, of course.
Dave Hendricks grew up on the beautiful Palouse of Idaho. He was born into a dirt-poor family where his dad and uncles farmed for years. His soul loved the land and the ways of it from his first breath to his dying one. He experienced love and loss on his farm, but it never broke the ties of dedication and love he held deep in his roots. His heart beat for the wild country, and his soul ended up in the back country.
I’m no idiot and know when the hail destroys a corn crop, or I’m stuck in the middle of a downpour while pulling a baby calf, that it’s Dave’s reminding me that he could do the job better. He’ll always be looking over my shoulder. The man will forever be just one memory away, reminding me to never give up on the wild country in my soul.
THE END